


Vast and Unnecessary

by Miri1984



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Discussion of Drowning, Drowning, Gen, basically grizzop's backstory gave me feels and this will explore them, fantasy racism (against goblins), minor original character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24856204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: Grizzop grew up beneath the streets of Amsterdam but his lady always knew him.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Artemis, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Eva van Dijk
Comments: 24
Kudos: 40





	1. Moonlight

He loves the moon when she’s full, loves the way she makes the city sparkle. Her light feels like the tender hands of his clutch mother, smoothing dirt from his ears after he’s had to squeeze through the tightest of spaces to get away from the humans, it feels like the warmth and comfort of his clutch sisters and brothers when they sleep piled together against the cold winter nights, it feels like he is known and loved and cared for. It doesn’t matter that her brightness makes his work more difficult, the comfort of her presence is enough for him not to mind. 

He’s good enough at what he does that it doesn’t matter.

Two purses, tonight, he’s managed to cut, one satisfyingly full. It should feed them for a couple of weeks, at least. He weaves through the backstreets of the red light district, heading for the sewer grate closest to their home. Pess and Deg should be back already, and the moon is so high in the sky that he knows he is late.

He should be paying more attention. He should be looking around himself more. He should have seen the hand that comes down and grabs him by the scruff of his dirty, too-large coat and hefts him up, up high in the sky.

“What’ve you caught, Van? A rat?”

Grizzop looks up into the face of a human, all wide smile and blunt teeth and tiny eyes that don’t catch any of the moonlight.

“Nah, Hiddie. It’s a  _ goblin.” _

Grizzop’s heart sinks. He’s familiar enough with what will happen next. 

“Filthy little shit,” the other man says. Grizzop can just see him, behind the man who is holding him. “Don’t know why they’re allowed out of their holes.”

“City watch should clear them out like the vermin they are,” Van says. Grizzop stays limp, trying not to make eye contact. Biding his time.

“Should we teach it a lesson?” 

“It’s smaller than the ones I’ve seen before. Maybe it’s a runt? Deformed?”

“Or a kid.”

“They  _ have  _ kids? I thought they just grew out of the mud.”

The two men laugh, and their laughter is ugly, and Grizzop feels the rage building in his chest. 

“What’s he got on him then?” a big, meaty hand starts to rifle through Grizzop’s pockets and he squirms then, trying to get loose before they… 

… before they find the two purses. “Oh ho ho it’s a little  _ thief,”  _ Van says, but  _ he _ pockets the purses. “A little  _ criminal.  _ We should take him to the watch house and lock him up…”

Van looks away for a second, talking back to his friend and Grizzop sees his opportunity, turning his head and sinking his teeth into the flesh of Van’s arm. The big man shrieks and drops him and Grizzop runs. He’s lost the purses and he can’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes at the thought of what that means for the rest of the clutch but he has to go, has to run, has to get out of there before…

He slams into a pair of booted feet and falls backwards, staring up at what he can only assume is a goddess. She’s tall. So very tall, and her pale hair shines so brightly in the moonlight, the silver of her breastplate etched with a crescent moon and arrows? He’s too dazed to do anything but sit there staring at her, blinking.

“Hey little one,” a soft voice floats down. He can’t make out her features, she’s too far up, the moonlight behind her too bright. “Are you all right?”

Behind him, Grizzop can hear running feet. “Get the little fucker,” he hears Van shout, and Grizzop doesn’t have time to wonder who this is, what she is, because he has to run… to get away. He scrambles to his feet just as Van and Hiddie turn the corner and he wants to run but there isn’t any way he can get past the woman and they’re nearly on him and…

There is a hatch to the sewer, right next to the woman’s leather booted foot. Grizzop doesn’t hesitate, he slithers in and drops back down into the darkness, running through the muck back to his clutch.

They are hungry that week, but when Grizzop can quell the growling of his stomach enough to sleep, he dreams of a pale haired woman bathed in moonlight. She smiles at him, and Grizzop feels safe.


	2. Complicated

The first time the sewers flood, Grizzop is terrified. They have a moment, when his clutch mother looks up at a weird, rushing sound that Grizzop has never heard before, and then she screams at them to grab on to her. The wave that hits them pushes them out and down and Grizzop gulps in filth and water and feels like he’s going to die.

It’s a short wave - the rain had backed up against a blockage further up in the sewers, swirling and building over a day before finally breaking through. They’re washed only a few hundred feet, but when they come to rest, gasping and vomiting and sodden, old Nezlin is dead.

His mother gathers all the babies, the sixth clutch help - not all of them have gone out into the world yet - and they return to their den. Most of their things are okay - sodden but still tied up in the sacks that his mother has secured to the grates.

“You have to relax, when the water takes you,” she’d told them, whispered to them when they were small enough to all fit together in the one tiny nest, and Grizzop had managed to remember that, when he’d felt his feet give out under him, with the rushing and the roaring in his ears.

He wonders if Nezlin had forgotten, or if Nezlin had just been too tired and weak.. He was old - in his twenties, far older than mother and her clutch siblings, and winter was hard and cold for him.

They let the waters carry him away, and they mourn him in their own ways. But still, it is one less mouth to feed, and Grizzop has his clutch and his mother and always, always, the light of the moon and the memory of her voice.

#

When Grizzop is two he takes Tzakik out with him on jobs. Tzak is from the ninth clutch, several months younger than Grizzop, but feisty and strong. Like Grizzop, she’s the biggest and strongest of her clutch-siblings, and she is sharp and funny and Grizzop pretends to resent having to teach her the ways of the streets but actually loves her fiercely. 

The night markets are crowded and rich, this year, and it’s easy enough for the clutch to snatch food from unsuspecting stallowners. It’s plentiful enough for them to take more than they need, and Grizzop even manages to steal a couple of  _ banketstaaf  _ \- a true prize, the buttery sweet almond paste on their tongues a taste of luxury and decadence.

He helps Tzak climb with him up onto the roof of the temple of Poseidon - where they can see out over the city to the ever present threat of the ocean, held back by the dam, and they stuff their faces with the sticky sweets under the moonlight. Tzak is as good at thieving as Grizzop, as fast on her feet, and as he looks out at the ocean he wonders for a small moment if perhaps they could leave, go to other places, places where he wouldn’t have to hide underground with the coming of the morning, places where he wouldn’t have to steal food and coins to survive.

When he is bigger, he vows to himself. When he’s fully grown he’ll take Tzak and any of the others who want to come with him and they’ll find somewhere they can live without the humans and the other races assuming they’re not fit for the sunlight. 

It’s a good dream. 

On their way home that night they stay above ground going through the temple district. It’s safer here than anywhere else in the city, although Grizzop doesn’t exactly know why. They don’t bother with gods down in the sewers, although they know the name of Poseidon, the older goblins curse him for the storms that flood their home far too regularly. 

Tzak tugs on his arm as they pass one of the least ornate of the temples, pulling his attention round. “Is that your place?” she asks. Grizzop snorts. 

“Nah, nah, why would you think that?” 

“You’re always on about the moon, right? That looks like a moon building to me.”

Grizzop looks up and sees the symbol over the doorway, with the three arrows crossed over it. He hasn’t thought about the alleyway for months, although his dreams are often haunted by the sound of the woman’s voice and the feeling of safety she’d given him.

Grizzop cannot read - he’s never been taught - and so he doesn’t know what the words above the symbol say, but he steps forward and lays one hand on the doorframe, careless for the moment of the possibility of humans seeing them.

“I dunno,” he says to Tzak. 

“Wanna go inside?”

He looks down at her, shakes his head. “We’re not allowed, Tzak,” he says. “You know that.”

She pouts, then shrugs. He braces himself for her to say that it isn’t fair (it isn’t) but footsteps down the street remind him that they’re in danger every moment they’re above ground, and he grabs Tzak’s hand, and they run towards the sewers.

He remembers where the building is though. He thinks maybe some day it might be important.


	3. Vision

The rains that come that winter are hard. The dykes need to be maintained, to stop the swell of the ocean, and there is always work to be done in the city, ministering to those who need healing and care. Eva enjoys the work, although the damp gets into her leathers and she spends far too much time maintaining them.

Ever since that night in the alleyway, she’s become more aware of the goblins who live underneath Amsterdam. Everyone knows about them, naturally. Most people curse them, attributing petty crimes and inconveniences to their small, three fingered hands.

He’d been so very small. And the men who had captured him had been so very cruel.

She has not seen him since, though, and the few glimpses she’s caught of his brethren around the city have been met with the reaction of any criminal on seeing the symbol of her goddess. Artemis is not known for her mercy to criminals, although she can understand where the need is coming from.

She tries. Brings it up with the high priestess, who raises an eyebrow at her.

“Goblins, Eva?” she says. “They’re happy enough where they are.”

“Really?” Eva says, burying her hand in Poemenis’ fur. The big leopard lets out small mew and nudges up, attempting to get her to give a full stroke. “They should be found work, at least, given some decent lodging above ground or…”

High Priestess Jannssen shakes her head. “Eva, I admire your sentiment, but in the end it’s not our business to interfere with what is essentially the jurisdiction of the meritocracy.”

“They let us heal their sick and care for their needy for them,” Eva mutters, and the high Priestess’ eyes flash a little at that. “We’re not their servants. We serve Artemis.”

Jenssen looks sad at that. “Under their tolerance,” she says, and Eva sighs. 

“They’re not pack, Eva,” and Eva can’t respond to that with anything that will satisfy the high priestess. 

Perhaps the goblins weren’t her pack, but there was no reason why they couldn’t be  _ anyone’s. _

She prays that night. She knows that the rituals of Zeus require pomp and pageantry, the rituals of Poseidon favour stern chants and far too much damp, but for Artemis, all that is needed is quiet and determination. So she kneels on the stone floor of her dormitory and reaches out to her lady.

She has lived in the city for long enough that the touch of wind and rustling of leaves in her mind drains the tension from her shoulders and pushes the breath from her body in a soft sigh of contentment. There is a sharp urgency to it, though, the thrill of a purpose, of a hunt begun, and she knows that her lady has heard her.

A whisper on the wind fills her with the elation that only her goddess can bring. “So bright,” it says. “So brief.”

“My lady,” she whispers.

“Protect,” it says. “Protect him. Bring him to me.”

“As you wish.”

When she opens her eyes, it is dark and cold in her room, and Poemenis has taken up all of her cot, her paws twitching in kitten dreams. Experience tells her she will not be able to dislodge the cat now that she has claimed her place, and sleeping tonight has now become impossible.

“Lump,” she says, fondly. She doesn’t need the rest, in any case. She has work to do.


	4. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for natural disasters and almost drowning in this chapter folks.

The rain isn’t stopping. 

On the one hand the constant flow of water through the sewers helps with the smell. For the first time in his young life the air moving through his home smells fresh - or at least fresher than he has ever remembered. 

But his mother looks worried, and checks their drybags more than she usually does. 

Grizzop notices. Grizzop also hears talk when he is above ground, that the dykes are dangerously overloaded, that one good surge could flood half the surrounding farms. Paladins and clerics and magic users of all kinds are stationed at all the weak spots and the rain simply will not stop.

They are on edge, and frightened, and wary.

It doesn’t do them any good.

There is no warning, this time, when the wall of water hits, not like the last time. Grizzop is on his way home from a cheerless and wet foray into the city, almost there actually, looking forward to warmth and light and the small amount of food he’s managed to scavenge when his feet are simply not on the ground any more. Water washes around his ears and he has to stop himself from taking a gasp that would kill him and goes limp the way his mother taught him and oh… oh no the  _ clutch and Tzak and mother where are they are they safe this is bad this is so much worse this is… _

His mind stops buzzing the first time he hits the side of the tunnel. After that it’s simply directionless pain and water and the pressing need for oxygen and he would cry or scream if he could open his mouth to do it. 

He doesn’t know how he manages to grab hold of the grate. The pressure of the water has eased somewhat but it’s still too fast for him to do anything other than haul his head above the surface, spitting and gasping and coughing. He’s  _ outside  _ he realises through the haze of pain, one of the outlets on the edge of the city, the water too much for the channel that leads it out towards the ocean. 

He tries to scrabble up and over the grate, to get onto solid land but his other arm doesn’t respond to him with anything other than excruciating pain when he tries to move it. He can’t stop himself from yelling, his voice thin and reedy over the sound of rushing, churning water.

It’s so cold.

And he is alone.


	5. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva finds Grizzop and brings him home.
> 
> The lovely Kath did some amazing art for this chapter, please check it out https://phenomenice.tumblr.com/post/638707258990231552/icescrabblerjerkys-fic-vast-and-unnecessary

They aren’t prepared for this and it fills her with righteous anger. They  _ should  _ be prepared for this, the city is unique in its problems and they should always  _ always  _ have the systems in place to deal with breaches in the dykes and flash flooding, along with everything that comes with that.

They  _ should  _ be, but they’re not, and Eva knows that is because the current Duchess has been siphoning money from public works for  _ years  _ right under the eye of the meritocracy and no one can possibly convince her that the meritocracy doesn’t know.

The meritocracy doesn’t care.

The meritocracy is failing the people it is supposed to protect and leaving the messy cleanup of disasters like this to the cults.

She is methodically searching for people who have been injured by the rush of water through their homes, for people who are trapped inside by debris, people injured in the streets. She is also looking for corpses, because there are corpses and if they’re allowed to be left out in the street when the sun returns the city will become a reeking monument of the dead, rampant with disease and filth.

She is near the edge of the city when she hears the scream. It’s high and wavering and hoarse - the sound of someone who has been screaming for too long - and it is not human.

She wishes she could have brought Poemenis with her but the big cat would be useless amidst the water, fussy and whining at the very thought of getting her paws dirty. Instead she has to rely on her own ears and sense of direction, to pick her way through the debris to the outlet pipe leading down to the ocean.

He’s so very very small. Not much taller than the length of her forearm, long ears, ragged at one edge and dripping green blood. 

His eyes are closed and his head is drooping with exhaustion, but he grips the grating over the pipe with one hand hard enough that the dark grey skin over his knuckles is almost white with strain.

She gasps, shucks off her pack and starts scrabbling for rope.

“Hold on,” she says. “Hold on I’m here.”

He sucks in a breath, eyes opening, wet with tears, and blinks up as she lowers the rope.

He can’t grasp it, she realises then, his right arm dangles uselessly by his side. She thinks for a moment then lies flat on her stomach over the edge of the pipe, reaching down so she can just barely touch his hand. He is shaking now, with sobs of something, hope or despair or a combination of the two. She murmurs a prayer and feels Artemis’ strength surge through her and into his tiny body. He stiffens, eyes widening for a moment, then lets out a surprised cry, swinging his until-now injured arm up to grasp her wrist. 

She smiles, nods. “Let go of the grate,” she says. “I’ve got you.”

He lets out a whimper, trying to unclench his fingers from the grate that have all but fused to it, muscles seized up and locked, and she realises that he must have been here for hours, alone and terrified.

Her heart somersaults in her chest and she feels too full, overflowing with feelings. Anger. Pity. 

“My lady has you,” she finds herself murmuring as she gently pulls him up over the edge and onto solid ground. “She’ll keep you safe.  _ I’ll  _ keep you safe.”

When he’s up he buries his face in her breastplate and she can feel his tiny body shaking and shuddering in cold, in the aftermath of fear, in exhaustion. She murmurs another prayer into the top of his head, holding him against her, forcing warmth and healing into his tired limbs.

It only takes a minute for him to fall asleep.

#

She should take him to the Aphrodite lot. Or to Apollo. 

She doesn’t. 

Zoe and Fenna are in the lobby of Artemis’ temple in the makeshift treatment centre they’ve set up to help those who can’t make it to Aphrodite or Apollo’s more equipped hospitals. They look up as she enters, the tiny goblin still cradled in her arms. He is sleeping peacefully now, utterly exhausted, and she’s pumped enough magic into him to be certain that he won’t suffer any ill effects from his time in the freezing water, his arm completely healed although there is a notch in one of his ears.

“What have you got there, Eva?” Fenna asks.

“It’s all right,” Eva says, hastily. “He’s tiny. I’ll look after him in my dorm.”

Fenna looks at Zoe whose eyebrows raise a little, but no one but Jenssenn knows that she’s taken an interest in the goblin population and so they don’t argue with her and she doesn’t offer up any more information.

She just knows, deep in her bones, that she can’t let this child out of her sight. She is responsible for him. She’ll take care of him. 

For her.

In her dorm Poemenis is pacing back and forth and making small trilling sounds of annoyance. She hates the weather, hates being cooped up inside, and her tail is lashing back and forth when Eva comes in and gently tries to lie the goblin down on her cot.

His thin, spindly arms tighten around her neck and he makes a small sound of protest, not wanting to let go. She gently unhooks them and tucks him under the blankets, worried for a moment that he won’t be warm enough.

Poemenis nudges at her hand as she does this and sniffs at him, gently, all up and down. He doesn’t smell the best, right now, even having been washed out of the sewer by fresh water there is still a lingering scent of it on him, but this doesn’t seem to bother the big cat, who contemplates him for a long moment before leaping gracefully up onto the cot and curling around him, protectively, as if he were her kitten.

Eva swallows down a lump in her throat and strokes down the leopard’s back.

It feels right to have him here, and she sits back on her heels, taking in the picture of the leopard and the goblin, and sends another prayer of thanks to her Lady.


End file.
